Musgo | The Stars Laugh
- Jun 22
- 1 min read
The stars laugh from the trees.
The moss caught me first.
Not the ocean. Not the boats. Not the balcony.
The moss.
It hangs from branches and wraps itself around trunks as if it has nowhere else to be. Orchids grow from trees instead of pots. Roots float through the air.
Everything seems less interested in controlling nature and more interested in living alongside it.
Somehow, I find myself returning
The old eucalyptus trees of Santa Barbara.
The moss-covered forests of the Oregon woods.
The beloved Deep South magnolias, whose fragrance drifts through the air like a secret.
The palms speak Portuguese.
The moss speaks a language I have known my whole life.
Perhaps that's why certain places feel familiar before we understand them.
Not because they are the same.
Because they rhyme.
Today the clouds drift over the bay. The boats rock gently at anchor. Orchids cling to branches. Moss sways in the breeze.
The stars laugh from the trees.
And something inside me quietly says:
"You've been here before."
Not this place.
This feeling.
For Dad and Tom.
You understand this place.
"O que vale a pena é estar vivo."
— Rita Lee
